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by negans_lucille



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cutting, Dark, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Heavy - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, Mentions of Suicide, Sad, Self-Harm, Sex, Smut, Soft Negan, self harming reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 03:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negans_lucille/pseuds/negans_lucille
Summary: When Negan discovers one of his people is hurting themselves, he does everything in his power to make them feel something better.





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**Author's Note:**

> Requested on tumblr. 
> 
> WARNING: SELF HARM. The reader doesn’t physically harm themselves in the fic but it is talked about and there is imagery of the self inflicted wounds, and talk about why they self harm. Please don’t read this if it’s triggering for you. 
> 
> If you self harm, or think about self harming, please seek help:
> 
> UK - MIND – call 0300 123 3393 or text 86463 (9am to 6pm on weekdays)
> 
> USA - To Write Love on Her Arms - call 1-800-273-TALK

“Do you know why I’ve called you up here, doll?” Negan was sitting back on his black leather couch, one leg crossed over the other, his arm spread out over the back of the seat. You rarely saw him without his leather jacket on. God, he looked good. Your eyes slowly glanced to your left to see Simon still stood beside you. He had shown you up to Negan’s room. 

“No sir,” you cleared your throat, your voice a little weak. You’d assumed it was something to do with you training to become a fighter. You’d put your name forward a few weeks back and had been training to fight, put to the test several times against various zombies, sometimes humans. Maybe you’d fucked it up and weren’t making the team, so to speak. 

“Some of my men, no fucking names mentioned, have some fuckin’ concerns about you joining the fighters,” he told you. A small frown etched into your brow. Why? Was it because you were a woman? You’d more than proven yourself already. “They’ve brought something to my fucking attention and I would be a shitty fucking leader if I didn’t talk to ya about it.” His hazel eyes flickered to Simon as your heart beat increased. You had no idea where this was heading and it made you uneasy. “You can leave,” he told Simon.

 

He waited until Simon had left the room to speak again. 

“Tell me, Y/N, why the fuck do you want to be a fighter?” He asked, his full attention back on you. You swallowed hard and wondered what the right answer was. You didn’t want to screw up your chances. 

“I want to serve you. I want - I’m good at fighting. I’d die for this group,” you told him. 

“And why’s that?” He pressed. 

“I don’t have anyone left. This world fucking sucks, if I’m going out then I want it to be for a good reason. Make my life worth something. I know I’m expendable…”

“That’s where you’re fucking wrong, sweetheart,” he cut across you. “None of my people are fucking expendable, you included.” He told you. You blushed and looked to your feet, not used to the compliment. 

“Fighting makes me feel good…” You added. 

 

Negan didn’t say anything for a moment, he rose to his feet and slowly walked towards you. His body towered over yours, his smell engulfing you as he stood there. You could almost feel the warmth of his body and you closed your eyes and indulged in it for a moment. 

“Some of my men have concerns that you’ll be reckless, that you’ll put the group in danger,” he explained. 

“I’d never…” He silenced you as he reached out and grabbed your wrist. His touch was softer than you’d imagined and it caught you off guard. He turned your palm flat upwards and with his other hand, slowly pushed your sleeve up your arm. You flinched and tried to pull away but his grip tightened and kept you in your place as he revealed them; your dirty little secrets. Your scars. You swallowed hard and didn’t dare look up at him. 

“Tell me, darling, why the fuck would you mark yourself like this?” He asked, his voice soft and hardly above a whisper.

“To make me feel something,” you couldn’t believe you’d actually told him. Your body was in shock. No one knew about your guilty pleasure, and if they did they had never dared talk to you about it. Negan’s eyes were soft on yours as he stared at you. “I don’t feel anything anymore. Not without…” You stopped not wanting to say the actual words, “these make me feel again. Fighting makes me feel again.” You gulped. There was something about Negan, something hypnotic and alluring that made you open up to him, be completely honest with him. 

“Do you know how fuckin’ dangerous that is? In this world? If I fucking sent you out there, doll, and one of those fuckers so much as touched one of these wounds you’d be fucking dead in days. Or is that what you want?" 

"I’m not suicidal,” you told him immediately. “I’m not an idiot I know how to finish myself off, and this isn’t it. I just don’t particularly care about living either. " 

 

Negan didn’t reply to you, his hazel eyes landed on your cuts again as the hand that wasn’t still holding your wrist delicately brushed over your exposed arm. You flinched at the contact but didn’t withdraw. His fingertips were callous as they dragged across the raised wounds. You’d never imagined him so gentle, so caring. You thought someone who didn’t actually care if they died would be what he wanted in a fighter. His face lifted until his eyes met yours again. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. It caught your breath in your throat, it was the last thing you were expecting from him. He tasted smokey, like the outdoors in autumn. His beard was coarse against your sensitive skin as it brushed along it. He pulled away and your lips chased his for a moment, wanting more. You barely had the courage to look at his face. 

 

"Did that fucking make you feel something, sweetheart?” He asked. Your heartbeat was hard in your chest, your mouth dry as butterflies danced around your stomach. 

“Yes sir,” you whispered. 

“Then it’s fucking settled.” He beamed. You weren’t sure what he meant, but didn’t ask for an explanation.

He let go of your wrist and you immediately pulled your sleeve down again to cover up, you hated them being on show. You weren’t proud of them, you were ashamed. Every mark like a count of how many times you were weak and vulnerable. But when you were alone, you could stare at them for hours. They were like some beautifully twisted art that reminded you that you could feel, you were capable of it. You were capable of bleeding. You were human. “Nah huh, sweetheart, you don’t fucking hide them from me.” He scolded, he pushed your sleeve back up your arm. “In fact, why don’t you fucking take this off?” He referred to your hoodie. You’d never exposed every single one of them to anyone. You suddenly felt very embarrassed by the number that littered your skin. 

 

You did as you were told nonetheless and pulled your hoodie over your head. The vest you were wearing underneath exposed the numerous cuts that started from wrist all the way up to your shoulder. All little ones going from side to side. Some on the back of your arm too, but those ones didn’t feel the same so you rarely did use that part. You instantly hugged yourself, not that it was hiding much. “Don’t you ever fucking do this again. That’s a fucking order, doll. You want to fucking feel something? Then you fucking come and see me and I’ll make you feel things you’ve not felt in your wildest fucking dreams.” His voice was still soft, albeit stern, like you had no choice in the matter. 

“It’s not that easy,” you whispered. 

“It fucking is, doll. You want to feel, you come to me. It’s that fucking simple,” his voice grew louder like he was trying to drum the point into your brain. 

“You don’t want the burden,” you blushed.

“Don’t fucking tell me what I do or don’t want, darling, I’m a grown ass fucking man, I can make those fucking decisions for myself." 

"This isn’t something I just do an hour a day when I’m bored, it’s something I have to really force myself to stop doing. Hell, I want to do it right now,” you confessed. Negan sighed heavily, a sadness in his eyes you convinced yourself wasn’t for you.

 

This big leader didn’t care about you, a nobody, just one number among hundreds in the group he was in charge of. He didn’t have time to try and keep you happy. 

“You’ve not scared me away yet, baby.” He told you. “What you’re doing is un-fucking-acceptable to me. That shit is not fucking cool. If you have to move into this room with me, if you have to follow me around like a fucking shadow, hell if we have to spend days in that fucking bed to stop you hurting yourself like that then so fucking be it. You just need someone to look after you.” You weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to someone caring or wanting to help you. You knew you were intense, too intense for most people, but Negan barely battered an eyelid. “I can give you everything. I can make you feel; good things, bad things, whatever the fuck you want. If you’re that hellbent on feeling pain, then fuck it, I’ll fucking hurt you, but it’ll be controlled, it’ll be done right.” Negan’s hands cupped your face, “Let me fucking help you, Y/N, let me take control." 

 

You couldn’t deny his offer was tempting. You were incredibly attracted to him, and you did want the cutting to stop. It had been your comfort blanket for so long, but what Negan was offering might’ve been better. You wanted to feel good things, you wanted to be happy, you wanted to feel love. Your nod was so small, you’re surprised he caught it, his lips crushing yours again. He pulled you tight against him as your arms wrapped around his neck. You hadn’t been intimate with anyone since before the apocalypse. Not even yourself. 

 

Negan’s hands lifted your legs as they wrapped around his waist and he carried you over to his bed, laying you down on it softly. His kisses trailed down your jawline to your neck, soft and gentle causing goosebumps to erupt. He continued his journey down your neck, across your collarbone to the edge of your shoulder, where your wounds started. His kisses were even lighter now, his lips barely grazing the cuts, the roughness of his beard scratched along them, it was a delicious hint of pain you’d never felt before, and mixed with the arousal he’d stirred inside you, the feeling was even better than how you’d marked yourself in the first place. 

"There’s plenty of time for me to hurt you, doll, but first I’m going to appreciate you, show you how beautiful you are.” He murmured against your skin. You could’ve sworn he kissed every scar on the way down, old and new. He lifted your vest top up your body and trailed his kisses over your stomach, finding your other arm as he followed the path of your scars back up to your shoulder, not missing a single one again.

 

Your head tilted back deeper into the mattress as you gasped. He was slow to pull your vest over your head, like he was afraid to break you. You didn’t mind at all, though. He’d exposed your breasts. If you’d known this was how your day was going to go, you would’ve bothered with a bra, maybe a pretty lace one. But this was not what you’d expected to happen at all. When your back crashed against the soft bedding again Negan’s head dipped down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, the bud hardening under his touch. His hands had found the few cuts you’d given yourself  across your stomach, just below your ribs as he gently ran his thumb along them each in turn. He sighed against your breast, kissing the bone between the two of them before moving on to give your other nipple the same treatment he’d given the first. He carefully undid your jeans as he worked your bud, pulling them and your panties down your legs. You kicked them further, using your feet to pull your shoes off so you could kick all the clothing off completely. You brought your legs up to spread and wrap around his waist, wanting to be as close to him as possible. Negan pulled back, staring down at your now naked body, his hazel eyes seeming to scan every possible inch of you. You could feel your cheeks flushing, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. He noticed the cuts on the tops of your thighs almost immediately. There weren’t as many as on your arms, usually it was where you’d go when you ran out of room. You liked the feeling there, the slow burn and sting they brought. Negan didn’t hesitate to crawl down the bed so he could kiss these too. His large hands spread your thighs as he settled between them, his lips working over your scars, the inside of your thighs heating up. You could feel the wave of arousal slick your core, your fingers combing through his hair. He kissed the sensitive bundle of nerves at your centre once, slow and wet, the heat of his breath causing you to shudder against his touch. 

 

Negan climbed off the bed completely and stood at the foot, undressing himself as he continued to look at you. You lifted yourself up to lean back on your elbows to watch. He was quicker and rougher with himself, clearly just wanting the clothes off his body. You watched as he released his erection. Your thighs instinctively closing for a moment as you clenched around nothing, your arousal now slicking the scarred skin on your legs. You drew your bottom lip in between your teeth and groaned lowly. He grabbed your foot and lifted it to his face to kiss the inside of your ankle, slowly climbing back onto the bed as he kissed his way up your leg, stopping mid thigh to kiss up your breasts, neck and back to your lips. You felt him nestle between your legs again, the thick bulbous head of his cock nudging teasingly at your opening. You whimpered, tilting your pelvis to tempt him to make his next move. 

“How do you feel?” he asked softly, his eyes boring into yours for a moment. The question threw you for a moment as you swallowed down the heavy breaths. 

“Good…really good,” you blushed. 

“Good,” he smirked, his mouth pressing against your ear. “You’re about to feel even fucking better. Don’t forget this feeling, doll. I’m always going to fucking be here to make you feel this.” At that moment, he sunk inch by inch inside you until he was the whole way. Your legs opened that little wider to accommodate him and a gasp escaped your lips. His teeth grazed your earlobe, tugging and licking the skin as he groaned himself and slowly, but surely, started to fuck you. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, throwing your head back and staring up at the ceiling. This new feeling was second to none. Even with other people it hadn’t ever felt this good.

“Good girl, let Daddy make you feel so fucking good.” he purred. His hand snaked up your body as it lightly wrapped around your neck, he didn’t squeeze, he just placed it there. You could tell he was holding back, not normally this reserved, and you would’ve been more than happy to let him indulge in whatever kind of pleasure he wanted to take from you, but you also appreciated his patience; his attention to detail, making sure every inch of you was given some sort of attention. His hand was still gently around your throat, his thumb reaching up and pulling on your bottom lip. “You’re only going to let Daddy make you feel things from now on, what you feel when is up to me.” He instructed. You nodded, wanting to do anything for him, anything to feel like this again. The euphoria was electrifying. “No secrets, you tell me when you need me, any fucking time, no matter what. You do that for me, and I’ll fucking look after you.” he promised. You nodded and reached up to kiss him again. 

 

His thrusts continued to be slow and purposeful, like he wanted to drag the orgasm out of you. You had felt it building for a few moments now, the coil in your stomach only tightening more and more with each perfectly timed thrust. Negan hadn’t stopped kissing you, like he was ensuring his lips had met every single part of you. Your fingers dug into the skin on his back as he growled.

“That’s it, baby, if you’re going to fucking mark someone up it’s gonna be me,” He gasped against your breast. Your chest rising off the bed to chase his mouth. 

“Negan, I’m going to…” You gasped and squirmed, “I’’m going to cum.” You managed to finish your sentence before the feeling took over you. Your eyes squeezed shut tightly as you let your orgasm consume you.  Negan grunted loudly above you, his thrusting deepening, getting that bit faster and harder as he reached his own climax. 

 

It was several moments before either of you were composed enough to untangle yourselves from each other. He kissed your forehead, almost lovingly, as he lay next to you. 

“Seriously, Y/N, I’m fucking serious about this. I fucking need you to be too, for it to work.” You nodded your understanding. “I never want to see another mark like this on you again. And I will be fucking checking.” He told you, his thumb delicately tracing your freshest wound. “I never want you to feel numb again.”


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